


Royal-Grade Secret

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Begging, Bottom Emhyr var Emreis, Canon Compliant, Cock Slapping, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Geralt's returns to Vizima are always welcome, even though Emhyr would rather not admit it. When they're alone together, Emhyr can finally let himself go, and Geralt reminds him just why his visits are so nice.-or-Geralt puts Emhyr in his place, which is down on his knees.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Royal-Grade Secret

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh i know it's been awhile since i posted a new fic, but things were happening!! I had to do nanowrimo!!
> 
> also this is just. hm. I hope you enjoy!

Emhyr called for the room to be emptied, all save for the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, and they were alone within a matter of seconds. In the next seconds, they just looked at each other. There was some heavy tension in the air between them, some unspoken thing. Emhyr would never dare ask for any of it, because he was above those sorts of commonalities. He was the Emperor of Nilfgaard. He shouldn’t have to ask for a thing. Geralt would break that out of him, soon enough. Send him straight past the asking stage and into begging.

When Geralt stepped back to the door, making a show of the way he locked it, Emhyr didn’t say a word. He didn’t refuse. He didn’t demand that Geralt unlock the door and be on his way. There were pressing matters, of course. They both wanted to find Ciri, but she was as much a fly on the wind as anyone who didn’t want to be found. It didn’t matter if Geralt left now or in an hour; things would be the same. So, he’d locked the door and walked right up to the edge of Emhyr’s desk.

“You didn’t bow,” Emhyr said. “Your manners are abhorrent, as always.”

“Think we both know why I didn’t,” Geralt retorted. “I’m not the one who bows here.”

Emhyr visibly tensed and swallowed. Geralt couldn’t help the smirk. Always subtle in his reactions, Emhyr, but Geralt knew them as well as he knew anything. He saw the shift, the sudden flush for no more reason than the heat of the day. Emhyr knew exactly what Geralt meant, and that it was only something ever to be done behind a closed and locked door. The empire didn’t need to see how fast their ruler fell apart underneath the ministrations of one witcher.

“You say one word and we skip to the business,” Geralt continued as he walked around the desk. He leaned into it, half sitting, and folded his arms. “Or,” he offered, “you can get down on your knees. I know it’s been too long.”

Emhyr hesitated. He looked at Geralt with an air of defiance, but it had been so _long_ since Geralt had graced his halls. Too long, as Geralt had said. From the look on Geralt’s face, too, this was either-or. Either he refused the advance entirely, or he got down on his knees. There would be no third alternative in which Geralt _forced_ him, though that was certainly an image that had Emhyr’s cock suddenly twitching in interest. Always betrayed by his own bodily desires.

It wasn’t a question of _if_ , just when. They both sat in silence, neither one willing to give in, until Emhyr gave up. It was inevitable. Geralt hadn’t been here in so long. There were too many nights awake in his bed, too large for a single man and too fine to not rut himself down into the sheets with the imagery of Geralt behind him. He could have that—and he wanted it. Hoped that Geralt would ruin him here and then take him to bed in the confines of his chamber before he left again.

In one swift movement, Emhyr was out of his chair and down on his knees in front of Geralt. _This_ was why Geralt wouldn’t bow to him. Because Emhyr liked this better; his own dirty little secret, that he actually enjoyed having a witcher tower over him and stare at him like that. Geralt didn’t even bother to hide his smirk, he just shifted so the underside of his boot could suddenly press right over Emhyr’s cock and make him wince. Geralt ground down on him, pulling an undignified moan right from Emhyr’s lips.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Geralt asks.

When Emhyr didn’t answer immediately, Geralt ground his foot down again. This time, Emhyr gasped out as the pain shot through him. His cock was traitorously hard, but that just made it hurt worse. He was sensitive, been without Geralt’s touch for too long.

“It wasn’t,” Emhyr bit out. When Geralt somehow managed to press down _harder_ , Emhyr was quick to correct himself. “It wasn’t hard, sir—” his voice was half-broken, already, but Geralt’s press relented. Emhyr breathed again, deeply.

“That’s better. Are you going to behave, now, or do we have to go through this whole song and dance for the rest of my visit?” Geralt reached out and grabbed Emhyr by his hair, yanking him forward.

Emhyr jolted at the rough touch, falling forward where Geralt pulled him. It made the pressure against his cock even worse the way his torso bent forward and Geralt shifted. He tried to brace himself, but the moment he touched Geralt’s knee, Geralt batted his hand away.

“Hands behind your back,” Geralt ordered. “Don’t think I won’t leave if you keep acting like a brat.”

The shock of dread, shame, it all went straight to Emhyr’s cock as it twitched under Geralt’s boot. He was quick to wrap his arms behind his back, clutching at his elbows to keep himself still. He shouldn’t have been this desperate for whatever Geralt was dishing out, but the first time it had happened had been glorious. Emhyr craved it, no matter how he tried to tell himself he didn’t. From the glint in Geralt’s eye, he knew Geralt liked it, too. Liked to watch how Emhyr squirmed under him in his own denial and refusal. Like a _brat_.

“Answer my question. Are you going to behave, or would you like me to leave?”

“Stay,” Emhyr almost _gasped_ the word. He kicked himself, mentally. He wasn’t this desperate, but he was. He was inches from Geralt’s groin, close enough to smell him but to see that he wasn’t even hard. That stung deeper than Geralt’s words, to know that he wasn’t _hard_ yet. He must have wanted it, but he was a witcher. Being able to control himself was a part of the job.

“Please, sir,” Emhyr continued. “Been too long. Need you.”

Geralt stroked dragged his fingers through Emhyr’s hair, tilting his head back as he did. He pulled Emhyr closer, and Emhyr shifted forward on his knees until he was between Geralt’s legs. He was even _closer_ , now, to Geralt’s cock. If he strained his neck, he could mouth over the shape it left in Geralt’s trousers. All he could think about was how he shouldn’t want this. Sucking Geralt’s cock should be the last thing on his mind, but this close, where Geralt’s musk was too much to ignore, it was all Emhyr could focus on.

“Look at you,” Geralt sneered. “You look like a common whore. Might as well give the crown to me with how quickly you’ll bow before me. Fucking pathetic.”

Geralt pressed his boot into Emhyr harder, and Emhyr squirmed. Panted. It hurt. It hurt, but he wouldn’t ask for it to stop. He craved it. Needed it more than he needed anything. Right there, in that moment, he may very well hand over the whole of empire to Geralt if it meant he could have Geralt in his bed.

“Do you want my cock, your majesty?” Geralt leaned down. “Is that what you’re so desperate for? How many loose cunts have you fucked while I was gone?”

“None,” Emhyr bit out. Entirely celibate since Geralt left him, the last time. Then, he added: “sir.”

“Of course not. Nobody can satisfy you, and what whore could you trust not to tell the whole world that the emperor of Nilfgaard likes a cock up his ass?” Geralt snorted, overtly amused. “Bet you’re desperate for that too, but if you think I’m going to fuck you in this nasty office, then you’re stupider than you look.”

Emhyr shifted, _squirmed_. He was so painfully hard, and Geralt’s boot was right there. He couldn’t press his knees together, couldn’t do anything to find some relief. All he could do was listen as Geralt beat him down even further, as if he already didn’t think he was a fool for wanting this. But he needed it.

“Go on, then,” Geralt offered. “Take what you want. Convince me, and maybe I’ll even let you have my cock.”

Emhyr didn’t have to be asked twice. He should have had to be asked. Should have had to be _forced_ , really, but he dove for Geralt’s groin once the offer had been made. He mouthed over the shape in Geralt’s trousers, his limp cock. It was thick and long, already, and it only got bigger. Emhyr shuddered at the thought of it, tonguing right over the head of it when he found it. Geralt couldn’t have been wearing smalls under his trousers. Not with how well Emhyr could feel the outline of his cock, already.

Geralt ground down with his boot, making Emhyr jump and shift. He groaned low in his throat, pushing forward into Geralt’s groin. He squeezed his elbows, trying to control himself. There was so much that he wanted, and he wanted it all _now_. Geralt’s cock, thick and long fucking all the way down his throat. Suddenly, Geralt’s hand was in his hair again, pulling him closer. Emhyr groaned as he was held hard against Geralt’s cock—he could feel it twitching to life between his lips.

He moaned, right out. His own smalls were wet, already, from how heavily his cock leaked. No one could ever know this was what he got up into behind the confines of a locked door. It was embarrassing, the way that he trembled and moaned as Geralt finally pulled his head back. Geralt’s cock was only half-hard when he pulled it out of his trousers, but that meant Emhyr was _doing_ something. Geralt was affected by him. Wanted this, too, maybe.

“Don’t know if you’ve earned it,” Geralt said, “but you sure do writhe around like a whore.” He pressed his foot down harder, and Emhyr let out another horrid sound. A frightened yelp of _pain_ , of all the undignified things Geralt could make him do. “Suck on it,” Geralt ordered. “Make a good show out of it, too, if you want it up your ass tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Emhyr said. His voice was embarrassingly breathy, but he didn’t have time to think about it. His face flushed red, but he dropped open his jaw as Geralt fed his half-hard cock forward.

Emhyr wrapped his lips around the tip of it, then looked up as Geralt relaxed back on his desk. He kept one hand in Emhyr’s hair, easing him forward to take _more_ of Geralt into his mouth. Emhyr closed his eyes, just letting himself get lost in the feeling of it. The weight and heat against his tongue almost helped him forget about the crushing pressure over his cock. Geralt still hadn’t moved his boot, and frankly, Emhyr didn’t want him to. He wanted to get off on it, with that embarrassing pain-pricking pleasure coursing through him.

He moaned around Geralt’s cock, sucking _slowly_. Geralt didn’t make a single noise, a single indication that it was _good_ , but Emhyr kept going. The feeling of Geralt’s cock hardening over his tongue was enough. As Geralt’s fingers dragged through his hair, he rocked his hips into Geralt’s boot. Desperate. Nothing more than a whore.

“You can take more,” Geralt urged, pulling Emhyr farther down his cock. Emhyr swallowed and sunk deeper. “Fuck,” Geralt groaned. “Should be ashamed by how well you can suck a cock, Emhyr. You look wrecked, already. You’ll regret it if you blow your load before I’m even hard.”

Emhyr swallowed the whimper in his throat along with the head of Geralt’s cock. Geralt was thick in his mouth, heavy and _hot._ The smell of him was enough to have Emhyr shaking where he knelt. His knees were beginning to hurt, as were his shoulders from how hard he gripped his own arms, but he kept going. He sucked Geralt until he was thick and hard, completely, in his mouth. Once he was, Geralt rocked his hips forward and forced more of his cock into Emhyr’s mouth.

Every inch of it, Emhyr took. He swallowed around it, groaning as Geralt worked deeper into the back of his throat.

“Too good at this,” Geralt spat. “Where do you get off calling yourself a ruler when you suck cock like this? Be better off in a brothel letting men fuck you. Probably happier, too, but—” Geralt stopped as Emhyr’s throat constricted around him. That jolt went right up through his spine. He grabbed Emhyr’s hair and just held him. Emhyr’s face was pressed all the way up into his groin, nose buried in a white thatch of hair. Emhyr breathed slowly, evenly, waiting for _more_.

“This is the only cock you want. No one else can satisfy you like this. No one else has the balls to do it.”

Suddenly, Geralt rocked his hips. Emhyr nearly choked on him, gagged as Geralt’s cock fucked into his throat just the once, but that was enough to have Emhyr shaking. He closed his eyes and just let himself _feel_ it. He relaxed into the floor, willing away the pain in his joints in turn for focusing on how _good_ this felt. He hardly noticed as Geralt slid off the desk and took hold of his head. Just let it happen. Whatever Geralt would give him, Emhyr wanted.

“So, fucking good,” Geralt rasped. “Bet your ass is just as tight.”

Emhyr moaned low in his throat. That was Geralt’s cue to finally start, and it was hard. He grabbed Emhyr’s head, a tight hold right beneath his jaw and around his cheek and started to fuck his hips. The reaction came instantly as Emhyr trembled. Geralt’s cock fucked down into his throat, fucked his lips wide open. Emhyr felt _used_ , but in that feeling was just what he was looking for. For Geralt to take him down a notch, help him _relax_. Everything was going foggy, falling softly.

For that moment, everything fell away. Emhyr was nothing but a hot hole for Geralt to sink his cock, and that’s exactly what he wanted. He moaned around the girth in his mouth. That sound alone was begging, pleading. Geralt gave him, everything he needed. Ripped him right apart as he fucked harder into Emhyr’s throat. The sounds were obscene as Emhyr gagged and swallowed around it, drool dripping down the sides of his mouth. He looked no better than a lowly whore.

“Look so good like this,” Geralt told him, and Emhyr keened around his cock. Trembled. He didn’t even have a mind for his own cock, though it was no longer being crushed under Geralt’s foot. He just wanted to be where he was, melting down into everything Geralt wanted him to be.

Geralt rocked into him slowly, focusing more on himself for a moment. He just held Emhyr where he wanted him and went for it, sinking his cock deep. The tight, wet heat of his throat was all Geralt needed to find his orgasm quickly approaching. The way Geralt’s hips began to stutter was a warning sign, and Emhyr straightened himself up. Geralt was about to come, and Emhyr wanted _all_ of it. He thought he might even deserve it, for how good he’d been.

All at once, Geralt was pulling back. He grabbed his own cock and stroked himself. All it took was one, two jerks before he was spending right into Emhyr’s mouth, over his tongue and his lips. Emhyr shuddered, closed his eyes tight and just _felt_ it. Fingers came next, peeling into Emhyr’s mouth and keeping his lips parted.

“Let me see,” Geralt ordered. Emhyr did exactly as he was told, pushing his tongue out for Geralt to see the mess. “Such a good boy.” Geralt stroked back through his hair, and Emhyr didn’t even have the mind to hate himself for how he leaned into Geralt’s touch. If he wanted to be touched, then he’d let Geralt touch him. Soothe him, pet him, whatever it was Geralt wanted to do to him.

“Swallow.”

Emhyr did just that. He closed his lips around Geralt’s fingers and swallowed the mess of spend on his tongue. Once he had, he opened his mouth again for Geralt to see. Geralt grabbed his tongue, massaging it between his thumb and forefinger. Emhyr shuddered as Geralt pet him. Fingers in his hair. Fingers on his tongue. He should have felt ashamed, pathetic. _Stupid_ , even. He was such a fool for wanting this. Nothing in this moment was befitting an emperor, but he _craved_ Geralt’s touch.

Geralt tapped his cheek, then. Suddenly. “You still with me?”

Emhyr nodded. Things still felt foggy, but he could focus on Geralt’s touch against his cheek. That helped. Emhyr almost didn’t want it to help. He wanted to lose himself in this.

Geralt snorted. “Now I see why you want Ciri back so badly. If someone else rules Nilfgaard for you, then you can come with me. Warm my cock on the Path. That must be what you want. Look at how fucking lost you are.”

Emhyr didn’t bother arguing. Just the sound of that had him shaking, and then he gulped. He didn’t realize until he shifted, because he hadn’t _felt_ anything. Suddenly, he was moving uncomfortably, and Geralt stopped him with a firm hold on his jaw.

“Talk to me,” Geralt ordered, and Emhyr swallowed.

“I came, sir,” he said, voice shaky.

“In your pants?” Geralt laughed. “Like a fucking teenager having his first hard-on? How pathetic.” Geralt let go of Emhyr’s face like he was disgusted. Emhyr wavered, almost like air would be enough to knock him over.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Emhyr muttered.

“When will you retire?”

“The evening,” Emhyr continued. His voice was hazy, just as his eyes. Geralt just petted through his hair idly.

“You’ll sit in your own mess for the rest of the day,” Geralt told him. “When you’re ready to retire, I want you to bathe. Do you understand?”

Emhyr shuddered. He understood _perfectly,_ what Geralt wanted from him. “Yes, sir. I will, sir. I want to be good for you.”

“Oh, I know. Such a perfect little whore. If I had my way, I’d kneel you down in front of the whole court and fuck your throat. They’d know who was _really_ in charge then, wouldn’t they? But you like being a dirty, kept secret.”

That was exactly what Emhyr liked. Being a secret. Locked doors, whispers, and sneaking. Now, he had to keep the secret for the rest of the day, that he’d come in his pants and was sitting in his mess of his own spend and sweat. He trembled at the thought, but he shifted again. He didn’t want Geralt to _leave_. He didn’t want to retire for the evening and bathe, only to return to an empty room and an empty bed.

“What’s the matter with you now?” Geralt asked, wrenching Emhyr’s head back. “My cock not enough for you?”

“More,” Emhyr gasped. He shuddered at the sight of Geralt’s smirk.

“I won’t leave until the morning.” Geralt’s promise rang truer as a threat, and it sent a jolt of pleasure right down Emhyr’s spine.

When Emhyr stepped into his private quarters, freshly bathed and only a modicum of decent, his breath caught at the sight that awaited him. If it had been any other day, if anything other than what had happened had happened, he wouldn’t have so much as been fazed. But he was still lingering through the dredges of what Geralt had put him through: the floating, the lasting shame of having to spend his day with a mess of spend in his pants. It had been just as humiliating as it had been delicious.

And there sat Geralt, right at the end of Emhyr’s bed with his shirt off and his breeches unlaced. There was a soft, silken pillow laid out on the floor right at his feet, where at least his boots were removed. Notably, Geralt’s gloves were sitting beside him on the bed, along with a pack of what appeared to be tools. Emhyr didn’t pretend to know what it was.

“Took you long enough,” Geralt said harshly. They were right back into the thick of it; for that, Emhyr was appreciative. He wasn’t quite ready to leave this floaty feeling behind. “Come and _kneel_ , your majesty.”

Emhyr did just as he was told, but he knew he shouldn’t have. If anyone else talked to him like this, he’d have them executed. When Geralt did it, though, his knees went a bit weak and his head turned cloudy. He stepped up to Geralt and dropped right down to his knees, still wrapped up in his fine, silken robe. Befitting of an emperor, really, but Geralt paid it no gentleness. He ripped it right from Emhyr’s shoulders and let it pool at his hips. Then, he ushered Emhyr closer.

“You’ll warm my cock until I’m done working,” Geralt said. “When I’m done, maybe I’ll even fuck your sorry ass. Be off in the morning.”

That last bit caused more of a twinge than Emhyr was willing to admit to, so he busied himself with more important matters. He shuffled closer on his knees, on that soft pillow Geralt had laid out for him and dropped open his jaw to accept Geralt’s cock. It was no different than it was in the office, but there was more assurance, here, that they wouldn’t be bothered. Emhyr knew what it meant, and he wanted it more than anything. He closed his eyes and swallowed Geralt’s cock all the way to the back of his throat where he let it sit.

“Such a good boy,” Geralt told him, and he hated the way that it made him shiver.

Emhyr didn’t suck, he didn’t move his head. He sat perfectly still, a heavy weight in his mouth, and just watched as Geralt went for his gloves. It became clear, immediately, that Geralt was repairing the worn leather. He needed new ones, but he would never accept some lavish Nilfgaardian armor. Emhyr knew it. Admired it, really, how independent Geralt was. He didn’t _need_ this, not in the way that Emhyr did. That though alone had Emhyr shifting. He should have been embarrassed, ashamed, but he just felt his cock harden between his thighs.

“Stop squirming,” Geralt ordered, and Emhyr tried to still himself.

He felt Geralt’s fingers through his hair, then closed his eyes. He swallowed, again, around Geralt’s cock, but there was nothing he could do to stop the drool that ran down his chin. He was making a fool of himself, knees pressed together and cock swelling uselessly. Geralt hadn’t so much as look at him properly, let alone touch him. He shouldn’t be reacting so fast, but he was. He groaned around the weight in his mouth then chanced the smallest move of his tongue along Geralt’s shaft.

Suddenly, Geralt groaned, like it _felt_ good. In the next second, Geralt had his hand back through Emhyr’s hair and was wrenching his head back. This was what Emhyr wanted. He wanted Geralt to _ruin_ him. On his own terms.

“Can’t fucking wait, can you?” Geralt growled. “Ten minutes is all I need, but you’re too much of a slut to sit still for ten minutes. How about I make you?”

Emhyr shuddered. “I’m sorry, sir—”

“Bet you are,” came Geralt’s rough reply. He shifted closer to the end of the bed, then grabbed Emhyr’s head with both of his hands. “Hands on my thighs,” he ordered, and Emhyr hurried to comply.

Geralt didn’t wait for even a second, one Emhyr’s hands were braced. He fucked right back into Emhyr’s mouth, and his hips worked hard. Emhyr gagged around the head of his cock, as it forced deeper and deeper into his throat. The sounds he made were obscene, disgusting, and they just spurred Geralt on more. Emhyr’s mouth was hot and tight—could take everything Geralt had to offer him. He fucked the whole length of his cock down that willing throat, and Emhyr swallowed, _moaned_.

When he started to _feel_ the swell tug at the sides of his lips, Emhyr could hardly contain himself. The first time he’d felt this, he knew he had to have it again. Had to have Geralt whenever he could, had to _feel_ this again, as the base of Geralt’s cock started to swell. A Wolf indeed. Emhyr’s hips twitched where he knelt, and his cock _ached_ for it. Each thrust down his throat, Emhyr could feel the knot growing thicker and wider until it finally caught just behind his teeth, and Geralt was coming straight down his throat.

Emhyr moaned and gagged around it, but he swallowed everything. Let his eyes roll back, let them close. His mouth was stretched out wide, Geralt’s cock buried deep down his throat. He nearly came. There were shocks of pleasure jolting through him each time he felt Geralt’s cock twitch in his mouth, felt the pulse through his knot. Geralt was entirely too pleased, his hips still jerking as the aftershocks of his orgasm spread through him. He let out the deepest, guttural moan, then dragged his fingers back through Emhyr’s hair.

“You’ll stay still now, won’t you?” Geralt mocked. “Stuck on my knot like a fucking whore. Knew you wanted it bad. Didn’t know you wanted it _this_ bad. Could have tapped out.”

Emhyr groaned, _whimpered_ low in his throat. Geralt chuckled, petting back through his hair.

“Of course, not. Been waiting for this; I know you have. Now sit _still_ while I finish my work.”

Geralt ignored the new sounds Emhyr made and went right back to his gloves. He looked so painfully unaffected by this that Emhyr was practically whimpering. He wanted Geralt to look at him, to pay attention to him—fuck him, wreck him, and ruin him. Geralt was taking his own sweet time with it, though his hips still jerked every now and again to grind his knot into Emhyr’s mouth. That had Emhyr shuddering each time. He tried desperately to move his tongue, but the knot left him helpless.

By the time Geralt was done with his gloves, his knot had begun to deflate. Emhyr was almost disappointed when Geralt slipped his softening cock from his mouth. Immediately, he missed the weight in his throat and craved it back, but Geralt was dragging him to his feet. He tore at the tie of Emhyr’s robe and finally stripped him bare. It was almost embarrassing, the way Geralt looked at his cock like it was shameful, disgusting how hard Emhyr already was.

Geralt’s grip was suddenly _there_ and hard, stroking Emhyr from base to head before finally just smearing his palm over Emhyr’s dripping slit. Emhyr shuddered and braced himself on Geralt’s shoulder, thankful that Geralt _allowed_ it.

“Haven’t even touched you,” Geralt rasped, “and look at you. Pathetic.” His touch turned rough, all at once, from a humiliating smear of his palm to an antagonizing slap right at the head of Emhyr’s cock.

“Geralt—!” Emhyr _hated_ the noise that came out of his throat.

Another slap came, just as hard as the first. “What was that?”

“Sir—sir, I’m sorry—” Emhyr said quickly, and the third slap was only threatened. Geralt stroked him again, softly. He thumbed over Emhyr’s tip and made him weak in the knees.

“That’s better,” Geralt crooned.

All at once, his touch was gone, and he was standing up. Without so much as a word, he grabbed Emhyr by the back of his neck and swapped their places. He pushed Emhyr into the bed, bending him over the side. Emhyr didn’t have time enough to catch himself, and just landed in the soft sheets. It was warm, where Geralt had been sitting. Emhyr found that he didn’t even want to push himself up, no matter how exposed he was with his ass out on display, his cock pressed up against the edge of the bed.

“Stay still,” Geralt ordered. “Promise you won’t like what I do, otherwise.”

Emhyr stayed perfectly still and just listened. Geralt moved throughout the room and returned, quickly. He set oil on the bed, where Emhyr could see it, and then retreated again. There was deafening silence until Geralt bore down a harsh slap, right over Emhyr’s left thigh where the swell of his ass began. Emhyr jerked forward, shouting as the pain swept over him.

“For being a fucking brat,” Geralt said. Another swat came down, hard, on Emhyr’s right side. “For your little name slip.”

“I’m sorry,” Emhyr muttered. His fingers were dug into the sheets, trying to ground himself. Geralt hit _hard_ , and as much as it hurt, it felt good. Emhyr’s cock was aching where it hung between his thighs, and he didn’t know how much longer this was going to last. If he came too quickly, maybe Geralt would just leave.

“Hold yourself open,” Geralt ordered.

Emhyr did what he was told, a rush of shame running through him at just how _eager_ he was. He laid flat on the bed, arms wrenched back so he could pull apart his cheeks and show Geralt _everything_. All he got in return was an appreciative hum as Geralt grabbed for the oil. A shudder ran through Emhyr’s spine, anticipation. He heard the cap of the oil, _listened_ as Geralt spread it over his fingers. Then, the touch came, and Emhyr jolted beneath it.

Geralt’s fingers were wet. Two of them, sliding between his cheeks. The oil was warm to the touch, tingling. Emhyr gripped his hands into the sheets a little harder as Geralt pressed the first finger in, and he slipped inside beautifully. Nothing but a wet, hot feeling with the help of the oil. Emhyr’s lips parted in a soft, gasping moan.

“You’re already loose,” Geralt snorted. “You play with yourself in the bath? Didn’t think I told you to do that.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” Emhyr admitted, and the rush of shame was punishment enough. He was _better_ than this, but he wasn’t. Not when he had Geralt’s finger inside of him, spreading oil deeper and deeper, moving tantalizingly slow.

“Of course, you couldn’t.” Geralt smoothed his free hand down Emhyr’s back, then dug his nails in right at the end where the meat of his ass began. “Too much of a slut. How do you even live without me here? Nothing to stuff yourself on. You fuck yourself on your fingers? Got a nice toy somewhere I don’t know about?”

Emhyr just shuddered, unable to answer. The truth was he didn’t do _anything_. He sat around like a forlorn maiden waiting for Geralt to drop by for a visit. He went unsatisfied for months at a time, only for Geralt to show up and wreck him into his own bed. Already, Geralt was working a second finger into him. Emhyr stretched open around it beautifully, shivering through the hard touch. Geralt’s nails were still in his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

Suddenly, Geralt crooked his fingers, and Emhyr nearly shouted. “Answer me, whore, or I’ll leave you right now.”

“D-don’t do anything, sir,” Emhyr bit out. _Fuck,_ he sounded wrecked. He sounded like the whore Geralt accused him of being. So, fucking desperate for a cock up his ass that he was reduced to this. His face was red with his shame, and he might turn himself a praying man to ensure no one else would ever see him like this. “Just wait for you to come back.”

Geralt smirked. “Of fucking _course_ you do. Can’t let anyone else know how disgusting you are.” He crooked his fingers again, and Emhyr just groaned. He felt the third one working its way inside, then, and tensed. Geralt kicked his legs farther apart, then fucked his fingers in nice and deep. “What would you do if a servant came in and found you fucking yourself with some wooden cock?” Geralt snorted.

Emhyr closed his eyes tight. Geralt’s fingers were a _force_ inside of him, just a prelude to what he would have when Geralt’s cock pressed inside. His body trembled with anticipation. He needed Geralt to split him open, fuck him out wide, but Geralt as still just working his fingers. There was so much oil, more poured down the cleft of his ass. Emhyr just laid there and took it, holding himself open for the onslaught.

“You’re too desperate for mine for any fake one to do. Fuck yourself, Emhyr.”

Geralt’s fingers went still, all at once, and Emhyr let out an undignified cry at the loss of friction. He had no choice but to do what Geralt ordered him to do—not if he wanted what he was _owed_. He planted his toes into the ground and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Then, red all the way down to his chest with shame, Emhyr started to rock his hips back to meet Geralt’s unyielding fingers. They didn’t so much as shift inside of him, firm and thick. Emhyr gasped out and tried to work himself back faster.

He couldn’t get what he needed, and his cries soon turned to frustrated groans. It didn’t _feel_ right. It was just a stiff thickness inside of him. He couldn’t twist right or cant his hips back to get Geralt’s touch over that spot inside of him. But his struggling amused Geralt to no end, and soon, there was a hard grip on Emhyr’s hip to still him so Geralt could work his fingers. He worked them hard, fast, fucking them deep and yanking them back at such a pace that Emhyr could hardly catch his breath.

As fast as it’d come, it stopped. Geralt’s fingers were suddenly gone, and Emhyr was being ushered up the bed. Geralt slapped his ass as he went, then followed right after with the oil in hand.

“Lay on your side,” Geralt commanded, and Emhyr did just that.

From this angle, he could see Geralt. See how hard his cock was, how thick and long. Emhyr shivered—Geralt had been going soft not moments ago, but he’d been so enticed by Emhyr’s little display that he was right back to where he’d been—standing proudly at full mast. He coated his length in oil, then leaned forward. He braced himself on one arm and used his other hand to guide his cock right to Emhyr’s stretched and swollen hole. Emhyr could feel the hot touch instantly, and he gripped into the sheets to keep himself composed.

“Gonna fucking _breed_ you,” Geralt growled.

Emhyr lost it. Geralt’s hips snapped forward and, in one hard thrust, he was seated all the way to the hilt inside of Emhyr’s heat. He pulled back immediately, then fucked forward again. Hard. Fast. He grabbed Emhyr’s top leg and pushed it up, spreading him open _wider_. Emhyr gasped, shouted out as Geralt pounded into him.

Geralt’s thrusts were powerful, painful, and each time their skin slapped together Emhyr shouted with his pleasure. He clenched down around Geralt, ripping a deep groan right out of him. Geralt’s hands were on him, nails digging into his flesh to leave _marks_ behind. Marks Emhyr craved. Geralt shifted his hips, angled just right where every thrust inside had Emhyr’s entire body shaking. White, hot pleasure rushed over him. Left him trembling, moaning. Geralt just hiked his thigh up farther and fucked _closer_.

“You sound like a whore,” Geralt said, and Emhyr’s only response was a throaty moan. “Make sure the whole place hears you. Let them know who’s fucking you—who’s cock you crave.”

“Geralt—” Emhyr grasped.

Geralt leaned over him, pressing his head down into the mattress and scraping his teeth along Emhyr’s cheek, down his jaw. His thrusts slowed with the angle, but every one was hard enough to make the worst, obscene noises. Rip moans right from Emhyr’s throat as his prostate was hit each time Geralt bottomed back out.

“Gonna knot you. Leave you so fucking loose that no one can ever satisfy you again.”

“Fuck, Geralt,” Emhyr groaned out. “Touch me. Let me touch myself— _Geralt_ —”

Geralt shoved his head harder into the mattress. “You’ll come on my cock like a whore, or you don’t come at all.”

Emhyr _whimpered_.

Geralt pulled back and redoubled his effort. He had one of Emhyr’s hands pinned to the mattress and had a grip on the other wrist. He used this grip to yank Emhyr back to meet every hard, punishing thrust. Geralt’s cock was thick inside of him, everything that Emhyr had been craving. He split right open for it, wide and whorish. Geralt never wavered, never faltered, and every slap of his cock was another push towards the edge. Emhyr could feel it coming.

He _was_ going to come on Geralt’s cock. He could feel it. The head of it abused over his prostate, fucked so deeply into him he swore he could feel it in his stomach. He clenched down around Geralt, crying out with a low moan as he finally came. It rushed over him in an intense, shaking thing that left him feeling weak and helpless. Geralt just kept going. Fucking into Emhyr with abandon, and every _second_ it lasted milked Emhyr’s orgasm for everything it was worth. It felt like he was coming again and again, crying out with every painful thrust.

His whole body was tingling when he finally felt the base of Geralt’s cock swell inside of him. The sudden stretch had him crying out again, moving like he meant to get away from it but couldn’t bear to part. Geralt kept him still, made him take the sudden thickness inside of him and everything after. When Geralt’s knot caught, he came with a loud groan from his throat. Emhyr felt _all_ of it, they heavy spend inside as Geralt filled him with it. Emhyr let out one, last, lingering moan and went still against the bed.

Geralt stilled over top of him, though his hips still twitched on their own. He stroked clean fingers back through Emhyr’s hair and even deigned to kiss his temple. Emhyr swallowed down his embarrassment and closed his eyes, just letting himself _feel_. He could hate himself in the morning.

“Brought you a gift,” Geralt said. “Show you when my knot goes down.”

Emhyr nodded, and that was all he did. He laid there, still and silent, as Geralt kissed down his neck and marked over his shoulder. Geralt always left marks behind with his nails, his mouth. He trailed his dark bites down Emhyr’s back, where he could reach. His arms, over his ribs. It took fifteen minutes for his knot to go down, and then he was pulling away. Emhyr let himself whimper at the loss, the feeling of spend and oil dripping down from his hole. The sheets would need changed in the morning.

Geralt was gone from the bed for only a moment. When he returned, he said nothing. He preferred to show and showing Emhyr his gift had his eyes shooting open again as there was a hard, sudden pressure at his backside.

“Geralt—” he gasped and pushed himself up like he might be able to see.

Geralt pushed him back down. “Take it out when you’re ready. Fuck yourself with it. Wear it to your petty little meetings and think about me,” Geralt said. “Who knows when I’ll be back after _this_ little trip.”

Emhyr shivered and nodded. He let Geralt work the plug into him. It was a slow, arduous process, but when he felt the sudden stretch of the widest part, he knew it was almost done. The plug was eased by spend and oil and was soon seated where it belonged. Right inside of Emhyr, keeping him open and stuffed. He shifted uncomfortably, but when Geralt pulled away, he didn’t immediately try to remove the plug. In fact, he wished it were bigger.

“You’re leaving now?” Emhyr asked, trying not to sound as petulant as he felt.

“Yeah. Don’t expect me to bow next time I see you, either.”

That had Emhyr shuddering again, and he inadvertently clenched down on the plug inside of him. That meant that Geralt intended to do this again, next he saw Emhyr. However long that would be, Emhyr knew he had something to look forward to. Maybe by then, he might even be able to admit how much he wanted this, enjoyed it. He _liked_ how Geralt could kick him down a couple of pegs, take control for him.

He laid there, mostly on his way to sleep, and listened to Geralt gather his things and get dressed. Geralt offered him no parting words, nothing sweet or cruel in any direction. All that remained was his promise that they would see each other again, it would simply be later. Much later, depending on how long Geralt’s newest quest took. Once the door closed and Emhyr knew he was alone, he settled down more comfortably into his sheets and reached behind himself to press on the plug.

His toes curled; his breath hitched. He could allow himself _one_ night of pleasure, for as long as Geralt’s scent still hung in the air around him, the sheets beneath him. Emhyr could remember how Geralt’s cock felt inside of him, the stretch of his knot. He craved it, and the plug inside of him was almost thick enough to rectify is desire. Never quite enough, but he could close his eyes and think that Geralt maybe hadn’t left, was watching him from across the room with a devil’s smirk on his face.

_Just like that_ , he would say. _Fuck yourself if you really think it_ _’ll help_.

It wouldn’t, but Emhyr pressed on the plug anyway and shivered at the thought of Geralt watching him, guiding his hand, telling him what to do. Already, he wished Geralt would come back.

**Author's Note:**

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